Basket
by reppad98
Summary: Their story is like a basket, their lives like the fibers as they were twisted and turned and bent – sometimes almost broken – woven together and pulled tightly; and neither of them can escape the others. Three-shot. Ikari, Penguin. Written as birthday present for Zoey and for Ebaz's The General Prompt Challenge on the Pokémon Fanfiction Challenges forum.
1. Part I

**A/N:** Thank you for clicking on this story! I hope you enjoy it!

This story was written as a (very late) birthday present for Zoey, a super nice member of the Pokewrite Forum and the Pokémon Fanfiction Challenges forum. Happy birthday, girl, and stay awesome!

This story was also written for The General Prompt Challenge by Ebaz on the Pokémon Fanfiction Challenges forum, with as prompt _basket_. You can see where that one went :P

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.**

* * *

 **Basket**

 **Part I**

 _adventure is desired, craved, loved even, if only to reaffirm the loved safety_

 **Dawn**

She thinks she's going to die here.

Piplup is snuggled under one arm, Buneary under the other. She only knows this because she can see them; she isn't quite sure if she can feel them. Her thick clothing prevents her from feeling them, she hopes.

She knows it's a stupid hope.

Both Pokémon are fast asleep, deep, slow breaths coming from them. They're exhausted, and they're not built for this cold either. Just like her other Pokémon.

She can't let them die for her, she thinks, and she returns them to their Pokéballs before she can hesitate.

This is her fault, so she will deal with the consequences.

She isn't quite sure if she cares about those, anyway.

* * *

When she wakes again, it's dark in the cave. Somehow, she manages to feel even colder than before. She had kept her clothes on when she had come to this cave, fleeing from the snowstorm and the Pokémon- Oh, the wild Pokémon, with their glowing eyes and glimmering teeth and their echoing growls – even now, she doesn't know what exactly they were.

She wants to shudder at the memory, but she can't find the energy to move. Her clothes had been soaked, but that was a long time ago, and now they're frozen solid, a cocoon of ice wrapped around her.

Sinking back in the darkness, she wonders if she'll come out a Beautifly.

* * *

It's easier now. It doesn't hurt as much. Her body is heavy, so heavy, but that's okay. The cold is gone. She doesn't feel warm though – she doesn't remember warmth. Actually, she doesn't remember much at all.

But she's content. She's tired, but content. She drags open her eyes once more and she sees only darkness.

She doesn't think anything.

* * *

There's light. It's red and orange and yellow and constantly changing, and it feels like it takes years before she recognizes the blurry form of fire. Dark spots dance across her vision.

There's someone in the cave with her.

She should be happy, she thinks, a thread of a conscious thought passing through her. But she doesn't feel happy.

She doesn't feel anything, really.

There's sound, but the darkness comes back, and she slips easily into its embrace. It feels warmer than before.

* * *

The pain is back, and it _hurts_. All she feels is the stinging, the ice-cold burning, the twisting of knives of the cold that's everywhere, unavoidable, unbeatable.

She's angry, too, because she was content and happy and safe, and why would she want to return? She doesn't want to. She thought it was over. She had given up.

Why wasn't it over?

There's sound, and suddenly there's something in her mouth and she swallows reflexively. It's… _warm_. She realizes she didn't remember how warmth felt anymore, but… it's good.

More follows, but she doesn't know how much or for how long, because time is an unknown concept in whatever place she is now.

But she's not alone, she knows that. So when the darkness returns, she does her best to fight it, but she's not strong enough, not by far.

* * *

The pain is still there, and it still hurts, and it's still _cold_ , and she wonders why she wanted to return again.

There are sounds, and she's swallowing again, and it's sweet – she remembers how it is to taste again. She hadn't even noticed she had forgotten that.

"Dawn, Dawn," a voice says, over and over and over again. It's a name, she realizes sluggishly, it's _her_ name.

She tries to respond, tries to nod, but she doesn't know if she's successful. She just keeps drinking, even though it burns, because it's warmth, and this burning feeling is so much better than the cold burning she had gotten used to.

She wonders, if maybe, she's going to live after all.

* * *

It's Paul.

She doesn't know when her brain makes the connection, but suddenly the knowledge is there. Maybe it was during the many times she opened her eyes, to find him sitting next to the fire, surrounded by all those Pokémon, before he would get up and hurry over to feed her whatever warm, sweet liquid it was he was feeding her.

Or maybe it was when she was half-awake, his blurred face only millimeters from hers, and his mouth closing around hers to breath in warm air in her lungs.

She can feel her face again, she realizes then. Her lips and her cheeks when his burning hands touch her, before she allows herself to breathe in his warm air when his lips are on hers again.

"Paul," she tries to say, at some point in her half-awake state. He's gone immediately, only to return with the hot liquid again.

But she doesn't want to eat, she wants to talk, to think and to understand what is going on, but neither her brain nor her mouth can form anything comprehensible, so she just swallows.

She listens, though. He's talking, almost constantly. His words are a blur, meaningless repetitions of the same thing over and over again.

"You're going to be okay, Dawn," he says. "Just keep drinking, just like that, yes. Just keep breathing. You're going to be okay. You can't die, Dawn. You _can't_. You're going to be okay, Dawn, really, you are. Just keep drinking. Yes, just like that. You're going to be okay."

He says her name a lot. That's okay, though, because she likes it.

Then he says, "You have so much to live for, Dawn. You can't die. You have too much to live for."

She wonders if it's true.

* * *

She feels she's being held- no, not just held, but clutched onto, a desperate grasp of a heartbroken person.

She knows it's Paul.

She hears him talking, though her mind is unable to make out the words. She doesn't feel the tears, but through the words, the desperate words, heavy with old and new pain, she hears the sobs.

Her heart wrenches, and she wants to reach out to him, to comfort him, but her body is too heavy, her mind too weak, and she _can't._ A thread of a memory, _you have too much to live for_ , his words, and she tries to remember something, but all she can think of is him.

She feels his arms around her and hears his crying, and she's frustrated, because there's nothing she can do, nothing, only hoping that holding her is enough comfort for him.

And then, finally, words that she can understand.

"-Dawn, I can't fail you, I can't, please, please stay alive-"

Yes. She can do something. She can do that. She can.

She opens her eyes.

* * *

It's burning.

She can feel her arms and legs again, and they're burning. She's pressed against something indescribably hot, its tendrils weaved through her legs, wrapped around her body, trapping her against its warmth.

Her mind is hazy, but she still manages to wonder what this heat next to her is. She opens her eyes and sees purple, and she thinks _Paul_.

She doesn't move, stays perfectly still as her mind tries to make sense of the situation. She stretches her senses: she's almost naked, wrapped up in Paul's equally unclothed embrace and soft fabric of what she thinks is a sleeping bag. Her mouth is dry, the aftertaste of something sweet lingering. She smells fire and sweat and cold, cold air. She hears the crackling of the fire, the roaring of the wind outside, the shuffling of Pokémon through the cave, and close to her, she hears his breathing.

She can see him very well, now. Her vision is no longer blurred, or dark at the edges. She can see the silhouette of his head, and the orange glow of the fire casting shadows on his face. His eyes are still closed.

She's fascinated. She remembers him from before, from years ago. His eyes dark and calculating and cold, his face all harsh lines as he spoke even harsher words. She remembers thinking of him as unfeeling, heartless, _cold_.

 _Ice_.

But he isn't, she realizes now. He isn't ice. Fire, maybe, she wonders. But not open fire, she decides. Hidden, protected by walls. Walls of steel, harsh and cold, unrelenting, and closed off to almost everyone.

But not to her, she thinks, not anymore. She remembers his crying, his begging, the way he had held her and the way he was holding her now – he had closed his walls around her and had let her close to his fire.

She smiles and settles back against his heat, a different kind of warmth settling in her stomach, and promising herself not to let such a gift go to waste.

* * *

The next time she wakes, the burning feels less than before. Paul is still asleep. She wonders if she has to wake him.

She probably has to, she decides. She remembers the cold and the pain and the heavy, heavy feeling – something that still hasn't completely lifted – and she knows she has been close to dying.

She feels sick when she remembers that she had _wanted_ to die. She remembers words, _You have so much to live for_ , and her own doubt and she feels even worse.

Paul.

Her memories are vague and blurred, but she knows he had saved her, that he had cried for her, that he had let her close. And his words, those were his words, that she had so much to live for.

And she does. Her Pokémon, her family, her friends, her career-

She suddenly remembers why she came up on this mountain. _An adventure_ , she had said, _to become stronger. And to find herself_ , she had thought – but not said aloud, because her life was already perfect, wasn't it – _to find a goal in life, a reason to live_.

Maybe that was why it was so easy to slip in the darkness, she thinks. She's selfish and greedy and weak-

Paul moves against her and interrupts her thoughts.

He had begged her to stay alive. She needs to stay alive, for him. She can't explain her feelings, but remembers his words, his tears, his warmth, and determination floods through her.

So. It's decided, then. She will live. She wants to. Arceus, yes, she wants to.

 _Paul._

"Paul," she wants to say, but it comes out hoarse and unintelligible.

He wakes up anyway. He says her name and gets up, putting on some more clothes. The sleeping bag is immediately colder with him gone.

He wants to feed her more sweet hot liquid, but she shakes her head. "No," she says, and this time it does sound like a word.

She isn't thirsty, and she tells him that. She needs to pee. She tells him that, too. She's glad she can talk again.

He helps her out of the sleeping bag, and wraps her in a blanket. She doesn't feel her fingers, or her feet, and she has trouble walking. His hands are hot on her upper arms when he supports her.

She's trembling, and shivering, and he says it's a good thing, but it makes it even harder to move.

He looks away to give her some privacy, and then he puts her back in the sleeping bag. He gives her more of what he explains to be sugared water, and then he settles back next to her. It feels natural, even with so much of their skin touching.

"I'm not sleepy," she says. They're facing each other, the flames casting ever-changing shadows on his features.

"That's good," he replies. Then, after a pause. "You were almost dead."

"I know." And then, though she isn't sure why she tells him, "I wanted to die, then."

He tenses. "Why?" he asks first, and second, "Only then?"

She nods, and places her hands on his cheeks. She doesn't know why she does it. He has stubble, and his skin is rough. She still doesn't feel her fingers.

"Only then," she confirms. "As for why…" She pauses, thinking, but coming up with nothing. "It was easier, I think. It hurt, and I was alone, and everything that once seemed to matter was gone."

His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth a line as he stares at her. "What changed?"

She smiles. "You. You were there."

He blinks.

"You…" she momentarily hesitates, recalling what she knew of Paul's personality and that he probably wouldn't like to know that she had noticed his moment of weakness. There's also a small notion in her head, in her heart, telling her that she's forgetting something, something important, very important, but no further knowledge comes forth, and so she discards it in favor of the situation right now.

And she decides that she can't stay safe forever, she has to take a risk, and so she continues. "You were crying. You… were begging for me to stay alive."

She watches him intently, waiting for the first sign of anger, of shutting her out, but instead his face grows softer, the shadow in his eyes disappearing. Her heart expands in her chest and happiness surges through her.

"Dawn…" he whispers, and he slips a hand on her cheek. His eyes are beautiful, she thinks. Almost black, but not quite. Still grey.

And they're filled with feeling. So much feelings, it's threatening to overwhelm her, crashing over her in an enormous wave.

It's not cold, though. It's warm, like fire, spreading through her body and filling her with an incredible lightness.

"Paul," she says, and then she kisses him.

* * *

She doesn't want to leave the cave. She wants to stay here with Paul forever. The cave is like a dream, a nightmare turned wonderful, and outside is reality, reading to crash down on her again.

She knows it will hurt, just as she knows it's unavoidable.

And she knows it's time for her to wake up.

* * *

He sits in front of her on his Torterra, to keep her out of the wind, he had said. Not that it really matters now anymore; the mountains with their cold winds and snow have since long been left in the distance. Her arms are wrapped around him, and she's leaning against his back, comfortable and safe.

She doesn't want this to end. She likes this sort of adventure. It's new, it's exciting, but she's still safe, because it's _Paul._

And there's this niggling feeling in the back of her mind, a presence that promises darkness as soon as it's unlocked, and it _will_ be unlocked. And it will be soon, very soon. She's scared of what knowledge it'll bring, what feelings, and she hates her fear – it's polluting her last peaceful moments.

She hugs Paul closer.

"I can see the Pokémon Center," he says, suddenly. She leans to the side, to look past him, and there it is-

And just like that, it hits her. There's no escape possible.

A flash of disbelief, a futile attempt at denying, and then sharp, overwhelming guilt, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach. She clutches to Paul even stronger, only to let go as if burned.

"Dawn?" She hears his worry.

She needs a moment to recollect herself – her thoughts are a tangled mess, her feelings even more so – and when she responds, her voice is a whisper.

"Kenny."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you very much for reading! I hope it was somewhat enjoyable so far, because this is really just one big experiment haha. The more I read over it, the more unsure I get about it, so I figured I'd just publish it and I'll see where it goes. Also, all my knowledge about hypothermia and almost freezing to death are completely theoretical, so my apologies if something was inaccurate. And I spent way too much time playing with MS Paint to create the cover haha.  
Anyway, next chapter will be up in a week! And please let me know what you thought about this one!

Thank you!


	2. Part II

**A/N:** Thank you all very much for your support! I'm very happy you guys seem to be enjoying it so far. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.**

* * *

 **Basket**

 **Part II**

 _life makes up for lost dreams in unexpected ways, and third chances are a rare gift_

 **Paul**

He finds her. There's relief, first, but it disappears just as quickly when he takes in her appearance.

Her body is curled in on itself, her face an icy white, covered in small ice particles, and her clothes and hair are frozen in position.

Her eyes are closed, and she's completely still.

Fear claws in his throat, and he wants to run and hide and disappear because he can't handle it, not again- But he forces it down, forces himself to be calm, and sits down next the blue and white girl.

His cheek is brought close to her mouth, and he waits, prays, until a whisper of a breath is felt, and again, and again.

His relief is immense, but pushed away quickly, because it isn't over yet.

Paul springs up and gets to work.

He won't let it happen again.

* * *

He does everything he can think of to get her warm again. But, it can't go too fast, he knows that. If she warms up too fast, too quickly exposed to heat, then the veins in her skin will dilate too fast and her blood pressure will drop too fast.

Then she'll die anyway.

But he's no doctor and he doesn't know what the best way to help her is. There's no way to contact the outside world, it's just him and her and what they have here. So, he gets out his Pokémon, heals her Pokémon, gets a fire burning, removes her frozen clothes and puts her in his sleeping bag, melts snow to water and warms that for himself and whenever she wakes up, but what if she doesn't wake up-

He bans the thought immediately. He can't afford to think like that. When he crawls in the sleeping bag, next to her and almost unclothed, he hopes that the rumor of sharing body warmth holds some truth to it.

Though, to be honest, she doesn't share much.

* * *

He can't sleep. She's too cold, and he has nothing to distract him, and he's _scared_.

Even her breath is cold. An outrageous idea comes to mind, but… he has to do something, something else than just lying here and hugging her frozen body.

So, he turns her head to him, and waits until she needs to breathe in again, and then places his lips around her, breathing his own warm air in her lungs.

He pauses a breath, and then repeats the motion.

He doesn't know if it helps, but he continues until exhaustion takes over.

* * *

He talks to her. Mostly her name, and sentences that once were hopeful but have lost their meaning over so many repetitions. He keeps doing it, even though his voice is getting hoarse and the words are mere sounds stringed together now, even though he doubts she'll hear him.

He hopes she hears him, that it gives her a thread of reality to hold onto, that it gives her hope, but he doubts it.

He tries to stay strong. To hope, to keep helping her, to not give up. But hours upon hours pass, and the doubt is growing, and it's been too long, _too long_ , he knows it's been too long. She hasn't woken up once, she's still so cold, and she's still breathing, but he's afraid it's not enough, it's too little, too late, just like-

"Dawn, Dawn, please don't die, please don't-" His voice breaks, the suppressed memory overwhelming him. _There's yelling, yelling and crying. A man and a woman. He's running down the stairs-_

No, he's not, he's not running, he's in a cave in the mountains with Dawn and their Pokémon. He only hears the breathing of himself and the Pokémon, and the crackling fire, and the wind outside. There's no crying, there's no yelling, it's over-

He stares at the girl in his arms, her eyes closed, her breathing quiet, her skin pale, though no longer covered with the white pieces of ice.

She's almost dead. _She's almost dead._ His memory provides him with the crazed, slurred laugh. _Stupid boy, you honestly thought you could protect her? You're just a boy, a stupid weak boy, weak, weak. The man laughs. No son of mine is that weak. You're a failure, a failure, a stupid weak failure… More laughing-_

There's no laughing, only crying, his own crying, hot tears on his cold cheeks, as he clutches to the cold woman. There's no red and purple, no blood mixing with long strands of hair, no man laughing and taunting-

 _His brother had told him to stay upstairs and to keep quiet and hidden. But he doesn't, he's running down the stairs, he's going to help._

 _"_ _Mom, Mom, Mom!" His own voice, high-pitched and defiant. "Leave her alone! Mom, I'll protect you!" His fists, balled tight and held up in front of him, his legs wide and steady. He thinks of Reggie momentarily, hoping that he will hurry up with getting help-_

 _She shrieks for him to get away, but he doesn't, because he'll protect her and he won't give up. The man takes a swing, and the floor and ceiling switch places as he hits the wall._

 _He sees the man, his raised arm, the clenched fist with the clear bottle, the bit of water-like liquid in it moving as the bottle comes closer so incredibly fast-_

 _And then a flash of purple, a yell of "No, Paul!" and he closes his eyes, hears the bang, the cry, the shattering, the thud, the laughing._

 _An instant later, he opens his eyes and sees the red, the blood, and his knees and hands hurt when he crawls over, through the glass, to-_

No, no, no, that's not true. There's no glass, there's no blood, there's a sleeping bag and Dawn looks as bloodless as ever. It's a memory, not happening right now, not reality, just a memory.

His vision is blurred, and he wipes his cheeks dry, annoyed at himself. The woman in his arms is still as motionless as ever as she's pressed to his chest.

"I failed," he whispers, though he doesn't know why he tells her. She can't hear him anyway. "I tried to protect her, I tried… I couldn't, I was not strong enough, I couldn't save her-" The words are rushing out, like a waterfall. "I tried, Mom, Mom, I tried to save her, I tried to save my mother, but there was so much blood, and he was just laughing, and I couldn't, I was too weak, I was too weak, I couldn't, I _can't_ -"

He's crying again.

"You can't die, Dawn, I can't fail you, I can't, please, please stay alive-" He stops himself, tries to regain control again, pushes the tears back and angrily wipes away the ones on his face.

He looks at Dawn again, and _her eyes are open_.

He stares at her for a moment, frozen, at her big blue eyes. _Another chance. It isn't over yet, he can save her, he can-_

He jumps up, hurrying over to the warm sugared water, and he vows that _he will save her_.

* * *

She sleeps a lot, still. He doesn't, though it gets better the more she wakes. She doesn't seem very cognizant, then, but she drinks his improvised soup and that's enough for now.

But still, his sleep is light, short and restless.

He wakes instantly when he hears a sound coming from her. He knows it's from her, he feels it, and for some reason he thinks it's his name.

"Dawn." He gets up straight away, the cold air biting in his bare skin, and his clothes are put on in record time. He hurries over to the fire, grabs the hot water and throws in some sugar, then falls on his knees next to her, a spoon ready as he has done so often now.

She needs to eat as much of it as possible in the short time she's awake, but-

"No." Her voice is hoarse, and her eyes blink up at him, constantly trying to focus.

"M not thirsty," she says. He waits in silence, and just when he thinks of saying something, she continues. "I need to pee."

He's too relieved that she's talking again to think about the awkwardness. She's barely able to walk, violently shivering, and he wraps her in a blanket and holds her upper arms to support her.

"It's good that you're shivering," he says. He's so used to talking to her, now. "It means that your body is fighting back again, that it has the energy to do that again."

When she's back in the sleeping bag, he gives her more of the sugar water. "The water is to keep you hydrated, the sugar is to give your body energy, and it's hot so that your core body temperature will rise."

She eats it, spoon after spoon, her eyes on him, though he has the idea that she's not really seeing him. Still, he does not look away.

After the second bowl, he puts it away, and looks at Dawn in the sleeping bag, still wide-awake and following him with her eyes. He hesitates, but it's stupid to continue standing here in the cold and he's tired, too, so he shrugs out of his clothes, before joining Dawn in the sleeping bag.

He doesn't have the energy or the motivation to think about any awkwardness, and actually, he doesn't feel it anyway. Dawn is still looking at him. He wonders if he should say something.

"I'm not sleepy." She saves him from having to start a conversation.

"That's good," he says. He momentarily thinks about leaving the exchange at that, before dismissing the thought. "You were almost dead."

"I know."

He wonders how she knows that. How do you know when you're dying? How does dying feel?

"I wanted to die, then." Her voice pulls him back to the conversation with a shock.

"Why?" he asks, and when her choice of words register, he follows it up with, "Only then?"

He feels her nodding, and then there are suddenly her cold hands on his cheeks. They were already in an intimate position, both on their sides, their whole bodies touching, faces turned to each other, but somehow that little gesture makes him finally aware of it.

"Only then," she says. "As for why…" She's silent, thinking. "It was easier, I think. It hurt, and I was alone, and everything that once seemed to matter was gone."

He feels both relief and fear, and he keeps his eyes on her.

"What changed?" he asks.

A smile appears on her face. "You. You were there."

What? He- he doesn't understand. Surely she didn't mean that? Was she talking about _him_?

"You…" She stops his thoughts, and his eyes focus on her again. He waits as she collects her thoughts, waits with increasingly expectance in his stomach, because he can't – doesn't want to, is too afraid to – believe that she's really saying what he thinks she's saying.

"You were crying. You… were begging for me to stay alive."

Surprisingly, he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed. Maybe that's because of Dawn, because of her soft voice, and the look of sympathy in her eyes, the… adoration? Acceptance? He isn't sure what emotion it is, can't pinpoint it, until suddenly a word he doesn't dare to believe comes to mind.

 _Love?_

Warmth spreads through his chest, and everything suddenly seems perfect. He had saved her. And…

"Dawn…." he whispers, even though he isn't quite sure what he wants to say. There are so many things he's feeling right now, and he doesn't know how to put into words, and perhaps this moment doesn't need words anyway. He puts a hand on her cheek.

If possible, her expression gets even more loving – _love, it's really love,_ he thinks.

"Paul," she says, and then she kisses him.

He silently vows that he'll love her, protect her and make her happy for however long he'll live.

* * *

She doesn't want to leave the cave, he can see that.

He doesn't, either.

They leave anyway.

* * *

Behind him, he can hear her sharp intake of breath, and her hold around him tightens, before she suddenly lets go of him completely.

Worry raises in him immediately. "Dawn?"

There's a beat of silence, then-

"Kenny."

He tenses, the implications of that name shattering whatever fragile peace he had found these last few days. He pushes his feelings down, keeps his face blank- There's acidly jealousy, burning longing, a wave of shame and guilt, and a momentary irrational thought of _what if he just turned around and took her with him?_

But, no, he decides. The feelings are forgotten, the thought dismissed, and so he just nods. He understands. It would always be like this, and it was stupid of him to think it would be ever any different for him.

She deserves better, after all.

He's sure the heavy feeling in his stomach will disappear soon.

* * *

It doesn't take long before he hears from her again. He's invited for dinner, she tells him over the phone, and that's all she says.

The dinner itself is an awkward affair. He does not care much for socializing, and her mother fills up most of the silence. Dawn won't meet his eyes.

He finds out why later in the evening.

He ignores the increasing weight in his chest, but instead just congratulates her when she shows him the ring.

She still doesn't meet his eyes. He doesn't try to catch hers anymore.

* * *

He gets the invitation to the wedding a few days later. He doesn't go.

Because, just because he thinks it's better this way, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

* * *

He always ignores the magazines with her face on it. He walks past the stands with newspapers at a brisk pace, nodding at the man selling them, but never looking further than the black and grey of the plain papers.

Though, sometimes he can't help himself, and he catches a flash of blue, or her bright smile.

And, one day, the big bolded letters splattered just below her face catch his attention. He stops, a fraction of a moment, and wants to force himself to look ahead again and to continue walking, as he always does, but he's drawn back.

He turns around, back to the stand, and takes the magazine from the stand. She's smiling, brightly, blue eyes shining. The brown-haired Coordinator – Kenny, he knows it's Kenny, he knows that very well – is standing next to her, beaming, an arm around her waist. They're holding a small bundle.

A baby.

She's happy, he decides. He really ought to let go.

He buys the magazine. And that, he vows, is the last thing he'll do for her. The magazine is put away, in a box with the wedding invitation and a forgotten scarf of hers, put away to collect dust for the rest of its years.

He never reads the article.

* * *

The crowd is cheering, and then he thinks of her. It's been years since he has done so, but as Torterra is still standing, the opponent's Pokémon fainted to the floor, the crowd cheering, the announcer's voice booming- he thinks it would've been nice if she had been here, if she had been happy for him.

But she is happy, he reminds himself, and as the announcer goes wild with yelling about the new Champion of Sinnoh and Torterra is roaring in victory, he finds that he's happy as well.

* * *

She does it again.

His world shatters and is put together again, in mere moments, in a few words, an unexpected realization-

She did that, the first time, back in the mountains, in the cave. She broke through, destroyed his world, and then rearranged the pieces until his world was shining with perfection, radiating just like she did. It didn't last, because on the way back, she spoke a name, _not his name_ , and his world broke again, only this time he had to put it together by himself.

And now, she isn't even here and she still manages to do it. The pieces are rearranged and the picture that comes forth is both incredibly terrifying and undeniably wonderful.

He decides to go with undeniably wonderful, and he vows he won't let this chance goes to waste.

He smiles at the blue-haired, dark-eyed boy in front of him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading! So… what do you think about this? Like I said, this is pretty much an experiment for me, and I've read this chapter so many times I've lost my objectivity (if I ever had that in the first place :P). The last chapter will be up in a week. Any comments are very appreciated :D

Thank you!


	3. Part III

**A/N:** So… the last chapter. Thank you all for your responses, and I hope this chapter clears up any confusion and that you guys enjoy it!

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.**

* * *

 **Basket**

 **Part III**

 _love is blind, and sometimes it's easier not to see, but even without ignorance bliss can be found_

 **Kenny**

It had taken him – after four years of dating – Dawn's almost death experience to give him the courage to propose to her.

A week later, she found out she was pregnant. He was _so happy_. She… She was happy, too, but it took longer. She was scared, especially in the beginning, and his reassuring words didn't seem to do much. But, she pulled through, they pulled through, and now they're here, and the baby boy is red and crying, and he's holding him in his arms and he knows his life couldn't be more perfect.

The boy settles down a bit and he hands him to Dawn, who puts a hand on the baby's dark hair.

When the baby stops crying, he realizes _he_ 's crying. The baby's blue eyes look at him, unfocused, and Dawn is crying as well, and he hasn't slept for twenty-six hours, but _Arceus, he's so happy_.

"He's beautiful," he whispers. The boy's features are more relaxed, and he sees Dawn's softness in them. "He looks like you."

Dawn sniffles and cries harder.

* * *

Dawn insists on naming him after Paul, and even though they never spoke of it before, he agrees without a second thought.

Or maybe, shortly, one- _she barely talked to him since he saved her so why_ \- but it is quickly cut off and forgotten.

* * *

All three of their children are so precious and Kenny is sure that they're the most wonderful children to ever walk this world. Well, he's probably biased, but that doesn't make his sentiment any less true.

They all love Pokémon, and they work well with them. Yes, he knows that growing up in a Pokémon filled environment is of influence as well, but yet he'd like to think it's partly from him and Dawn anyway.

They're smart, all in their own way, but Kenny secretly thinks that his son is the smartest, though perhaps it just seems that way because he's the oldest. When they play games, Kenny doesn't lose on purpose anymore, because the boy can beat him on his own – he has a strategic mind.

He has the attitude to match, too. While his sisters are wilder, brighter, more open, the boy is more contained. Kenny knows he can grin as wide as his sisters, and can pout just as well, but he's… holding back more.

He doesn't deny that they have their faults as well. The girls are temperamental, scary in their blazing anger, just like Dawn could be, but just as Dawn they're quick to calm down and don't hold grudges. And, Kenny has to admit, they listen better to reason than his wife, even when angry – he'd like to think that to be his influence.

His son is completely different in his anger. He becomes very silent and his eyes turn ice cold, the soft features of his young face turning harsh. He doesn't yell or cry or pout, like the girls are prone to, instead he just glares and acidly bites out words. Kenny doesn't know how to handle him then, and only Dawn can manage to pull him out of his anger.

When talking about appearances, it's hard to say whom the children resemble the strongest. Their oldest daughter has Kenny's brown hair and his nose, the youngest his rounder, chubbier face, and both of them have inherited his almost black, dark brown eyes. Their skin is darker than Dawn's as well. But the blue hair of the youngest, the sparkle in both of their eyes, the softness in their faces, their bright smiles, those are all Dawn's.

Their son looks the most like Dawn. Thick dark blue hair, soft features, lips that can just as easily smile as pout if the boy ever chooses to do so– but he guesses he's being unfair. The more angular, harder lines that come out as the boy grows up are his, he thinks, and his skin tone is darker than Dawn's porcelain skin as well. And those eyes, the black eyes that are so often deep in thought-

Dark grey.

* * *

All three of them start out as Coordinators, but his son switches to competitive battling later, putting his strategic mind more to use, he tells his father.

And they're all so talented, and so determined, and so _good_ , and Kenny is so very proud of them.

He knows he isn't just emptily boasting when he says that his daughters will be Top Coordinators and his son Champion.

* * *

Kenny can't say exactly when the pieces all fall together, but he thinks it's during their unexpected visit to his son's training. Dawn and he had been in the city per coincidence, and found out their son was at the training grounds next to the Pokémon Center.

And of course, they had gone to look.

And there _they_ are, standing on opposite sides of the field with two Pokémon between them, almost the same height – the boy had grown past Kenny a while ago. Dawn freezes momentarily, but he doesn't notice.

Boy and man have the same intent look in their eyes, the serious lines on their faces mirroring each other. The purple is lighter than he remembers, slightly streaked with grey, and the hard lines of his face are more pronounced with age.

The Champion of Sinnoh, Dawn's savior they hadn't seen face-to-face in years, _Paul_ , stops the younger boy in the midst of his command, then walks onto the field, all the while explaining something. His son listens seriously, but Kenny sees the admiration in his eyes.

He knows he doesn't realize it then. He waves and calls out to his son, and he turns and grins and waves at him – and Kenny doesn't notice the unusual stutter in the movement of the Champion as he gets a respectful nod from him in response.

It is only later, much later, when they're back at the hotel and Kenny is alone in the bathroom, staring at his mirrored image that everything comes together.

He breaks down and cries.

* * *

Dawn tries to talk to him. He slams the door in her face.

* * *

That night is the longest and the loneliest one he has ever faced.

Even though there's only a closed door separating him from a crying and pleading Dawn, he has never felt so far away from her. It's only when the sun has risen, his voice has gone hoarse and his tears dried up that he finally gives in and allows her to talk.

She's still crying, and she tries to touch him, but he moves away quickly.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." She keep repeating that, until he finally asks what she's sorry for.

"For betraying your trust. For lying to you for so long."

"But not for sleeping with him?" The words are bitter. "Do you really care so little for me? For our family?! How long has this been going on?!"

"No, no, that's not true." She pleads, but he's angry. He thought he'd cried all his anger out before, but apparently not. "It was only once, in the mountains, I barely even _saw_ him after that."

He's silent.

Then, she whispers, "I regret many things, Kenny, but not… not that." His head snaps up. "I wouldn't trade our son for anything. I don't regret that."

And, just like that, he suddenly feels tired. All the anger floods out of him.

"I don't, either," he says. He rests his head in his hands. He doesn't think he has any more tears left to cry.

A realization, and he sits up, grabbing Dawn's hands with new urgency. "Was it willingly? Or did he-"

"No, no, it wasn't like that. It was… willingly. I-"

 _She defends him with a passion she didn't show in her apologies_ \- He clutches to the thought, trying to raise his anger again, before deserting the half-formed malice with a heavy, sick feeling in his stomach.

He just feels empty, and Dawn sobs when he lets her go again and looks back to the floor.

"I didn't know," she cries. "I didn't know, in the beginning, that he wasn't yours."

"Why did you want to name him after him, then?" The question is a hollow murmur.

"Because he's a good man, and he saved my life." Her voice is strong now.

Kenny feels like he's being pulled apart. The dark emptiness inside him increases, fills him up-

"Then why?" He wishes that he didn't sound so broken. He doesn't know when their roles switched, when she became the sure, strong one and he the one that had fallen apart. "Why did you- Wasn't I enough for you? Was it passion? Or did you love him, then?" He looks up, to Dawn's tear-streaked face, her red puffy eyes. "Do you love him now?"

Her eyes are big, and so, so blue. Wide and fearful, he realizes, and the gap in him grows even wider.

"Don't ask me that," she whispers, begs. "Please don't ask me that."

It's another blow, and he doesn't think he could feel any worse, but he still does.

"Do you love me?" he asks, bitterly, tiredly, and fearing the answer.

"Yes." Her answer is instantaneous, and it surprises him.

"Yes?"

"Yes, yes, of- of course! Why else- of course I love you, Kenny, of course I do." She sounds almost surprised that he would think otherwise. She clutches to him, hope resounding in her voice. "I love you, Kenny, I love you."

The emptiness recedes, until there's only a small heavy chunk left in his stomach. A whirlwind of emotions suddenly return, and there's relief, a lightness among the other heavy emotions.

"Kenny, Kenny, please, I love you-"

"If…" He starts, and she falls silent immediately. "If you had to choose-"

"You," she says without hesitation, strongly. She's still holding onto him. "I… I can't explain what I feel for Paul-" He hates how he flinches at that sentence. "But now and back then and every time, I'll choose you, again and again. Please, Kenny…" She tries to pull him closer, and he lets her.

The emptiness inside of him is gone, replaced by a mass of emotions he doesn't care to dissect right now. Dawn snuggles against his neck.

"I love you, Kenny," she whispers, her face wet against him.

He hesitates, a moment, and then he puts an arm around her.

* * *

It isn't easy, but he pulls through. _They_ pull through. The kids didn't notice anything, and if they did, they never spoke up about it.

It's weird when he sees Paul, though. The older the boy gets, the more often they see the Sinnoh Champion around. He's training with him, his son explains, beaming. Some sort of mentor.

Kenny is sure that Paul knows. He doesn't know if Dawn told him, or if he figured it out himself, but he knows that he knows.

He knows that his son doesn't know. His son. It's still his son.

He wonders why Paul hasn't told him, but he appreciates it all the same.

And so, whenever they meet and are forced to interact, their nods are stiff but respectful, their conversations stilted and short, and their pride in their son mutual.

* * *

It takes many tries for his son to become Champion of Sinnoh. His mentor doesn't make it easy for him.

The boy is no longer a boy, but a man in his mid-thirties with a wife and two children when he finally manages to win.

Kenny is still incredibly proud.

In the aftermath, with his daughter-in-law, daughters and wife crying, and his grandchildren yelling and cheering, and his son hugging everyone, Paul is there too. He's standing to the side, just watching and smiling ever so slightly.

Then there's suddenly the photographer, yelling at everyone to get ready for some pics. Paul moves away immediately, and Kenny sees how Dawn glances at the other man as she moves into position.

His son gives his mentor, his predecessor, his friend, a look, but the man shakes his head slightly in response.

They're ready for the picture. The picture with the people his son cares the most: his wife, his children, his sisters, his mother, his father-

And just like that, Kenny stops the photographer with a "Wait!"

He forces his request in a light, casual question, as to not raise unwanted inquiries. "Ey Paul, man, join us for the photo, won't ya?" He grins, but it's forced, because he feels the symbolism of the situation is too heavy to be grinning at.

Dawn hides her surprise well, but her smile is wider and she grabs his hand to give it a quick squeeze. Paul stares in response, before nodding and moving to stand next to him.

His son beams, first at him, then at Paul, and lastly at the camera.

Flashes follow, and so their family will be eternalized: the new Champion in the middle, holding his wife and children, his sisters sitting in front of him, his mother and father at one shoulder, and his mentor at the other.

Kenny and Paul stand shoulder to shoulder.

* * *

It's a hot summer day when he visits her. The large, old trees create cool shadows on the path and the moss-covered graves.

The area is devoid of any living souls, but then again, who would want to visit a graveyard on a beautiful day like this? He continues walking, until the old, abandoned graves, grey and green as they are left to nature, make place for the newer ones, with stuffed toys, candles and colorful flowers.

He looks up from the gravel path, and sees that he's not as alone as he thought. There, right at the grave he had been intending to visit, is another man. The man is standing perfectly still, staring at the white stone which Kenny knows has his wife's name engraved in it.

And the same grave which, be it in a few days or a few years, he himself will be resting as well.

And Paul won't.

Kenny continues his approach, and Paul looks up, finally noticing him. They stare at each other for a moment, dark grey meeting dark brown, and then Paul nods in silent greeting and makes to move past him.

He could've just left it at that. He could've just let him leave. He could just… be happy with what he knew and accept.

But he doesn't.

"Paul." The man has already walked past him, but he hears him stopping.

"Yes?" He has turned around, and Kenny does the same, facing him.

"Did you love her?"

"Yes." There's no hesitancy, and he meets Kenny's gaze steadily.

"Me, too." He doesn't know why he feels the need to point out the obvious, but Paul doesn't seem to find it strange.

"I know." He looks away. "She loved you."

He nods, hesitating a moment before he says, "She… loved you, too." He knows it's true, even if Dawn never said it out loud.

"I know," Paul says after a long pause. Then, turning his gaze to the white stone behind Kenny, "You were better for her. And for him."

"You don't know that."

Paul looks at him, a dark sadness in his eyes. "I will never know now. But…" The sadness disappears, calm acceptance and contentment taking its place. "This was good, too. It was… better than I expected. Than… I deserved, perhaps."

"You're a good man." Dawn said it once, and now Kenny finds himself repeating it.

Paul looks at him, dubiously, but lets it pass. "Thank you." He pauses, as if trying to find the right words. "I am… very grateful, for everything you've done for me. And for Dawn. And for him, of course."

"Of course. He's my son." The response comes easy, and when Kenny struggles with what else he wants to say, Paul takes it as the end of the conversation. He nods once more, then turns around to continue walking.

"He's your son too," Kenny says to Paul's retreating back, and the older man stops walking, but doesn't turn around.

"I am grateful to you, as well," Kenny starts, words suddenly pouring out. "Without you, he wouldn't be who he is now. If… if you hadn't been there, none of us would. And Dawn would've been at this place far too soon."

Paul turns around to face him, and Kenny finishes, a bit awkwardly, "So… thank you."

They stare at each other for a few moments.

"Do you love him?" Kenny asks, not even knowing why he asks it. He already knows the answer.

Paul smiles, then. "Of course. He's my son."

Kenny nods, then smiles, and he finds it isn't as bitter or wry as it used to be.

"Take care, Paul."

"Take care, Kenny." A half-smile, before Paul turns again and leaves.

It feels as if a weight he hadn't noticed he had been carrying along had been lifted off, and Kenny sighs deeply. He turns to Dawn's grave, opens his mouth, and then notices a fresh blue rose among the other flowers.

He smiles.

* * *

It was the last time he saw Paul. Now, it's just a body in a casket. A body and a casket that will be buried next to his wife later this day.

Kenny had insisted on that.

And, he thinks, that was when their son finally figured it out.

* * *

When their son finally asks, Kenny explains honestly, and when he finally leaves, he wonders if Dawn and Paul would've worked out in another universe, in another time, if they'd made different choices.

He decides that he will never know, and that it doesn't really matter, anyway.

There's no rewind button on real life, after all.

* * *

Their story is like a basket, he thinks as he holds the empty object in his slightly trembling hands. Then, he chuckles at his own thought. It was quite a ridiculous notion, after all. Must be the age, he decides.

The basket was a gift from their son on one of his first visits to his sickbed – it had been filled with fruit, though it was empty now.

For some reason, he found himself with the basket in his hands as he waited for his son's visit, staring at the interwoven fibers. And he realizes that perhaps there was some truth in his earlier thought, after all.

Their lives were like the fibers, taking turns and twisting, sometimes by choice, and sometimes- Sometimes they had been forced, forced to deal with other fibers' twists and turns, bending and sometimes almost breaking. But never completely, because in the end they were still whole and interwoven together, pulled tight, to form this basket.

The door opens, and their son walks in, smiling.

Kenny would like to think they'd created something more than a basket.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you very much for reading! This was a wonderful experiment for me and I really enjoyed it, and I'm happy I received so much feedback from you guys! Thank you! Of course, reviews are still very appreciated and I would love to hear what you think about now that it's finished :D

Thank you!

Some extra information: A rose obviously means love, but a blue rose is something unattainable, and if you combine that with the meaning 'love', a blue rose means a desire for the unattainable. In other words: "I love you, but I can't have you." Yes, I looked this up on the internet :P


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